


a family affair

by calypezo (pezzainwonderland), epicbcky (pezzainwonderland)



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Gen, Idiots in Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pezzainwonderland/pseuds/calypezo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pezzainwonderland/pseuds/epicbcky
Summary: "Saving people, hunting things - the family business."(or: the one in which the Bridgertons are hunters)-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"So, your family hunts...thesethings?" Penelope clarified while she paced back and forth in the Bridgerton guest quarters, trying to wrap her head around the fact that the bloody Bridgertons - a family she loved and adored, the family of her best friend and the man she loved, for God's sake! A family Penelope followed and watched and knew - had somehow managed to keep such a miraculous, monumental, horrible secret from her for all these years.And she had never suspected a thing.How?Eloise gave a sort of shrug, "Well, yes.""And Colin - ""Is on a hunting trip, yes," Benedict reiterated, "He should be back within a matter of days, if all went well.""And if it didn't?"The siblings glanced at each other, sharing a dark, worrisome look. Benedict swallowed."Oh," Penelope breathed, and that was just...Well, that was just too awful to consider.
Relationships: Bridgerton Sibling Goodness, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton & Penelope Featherington
Comments: 164
Kudos: 338





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Bridgerton, then I rewatched Supernatural, and I haven't been able to stop imagining this since, so, I decided to write it! And then I thought, "Why not share it with the Polin fandom?" so here we are! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I have literally never written a period piece in my life, so, I am very sorry if slang or speech or whatever is incorrect/inaccurate (but, I mean...Bridgerton itself is historically inaccurate so who cares, amirite?). 
> 
> Twitter: @epic_bcky  
> Tumblr: calypezo.tumblr.com

The night was dark and cold (as nights were wont to be).

Penelope Featherington preferred just such nights for writing - nights with a chill in the air and a flickering candle by her side. 

It was an atmosphere that stoked her creative spirit. 

(Nevermind the fact that night was the only time she had to herself to write - the only time she didn't have to worry about her Mother breathing down her neck, interrupting her thoughts.) 

She was weaving a tale of mystery and deceit (a story her Mother would undoubtedly be completely scandalized by and, perhaps, that was Penelope's favourite thing about it). It was a frightening tale, to say the least, fuelled by nightmarish things she'd read in this newspaper or that - whispers she'd heard on the street. 

Penelope had an ear for whispers, you see. 

It was a necessity, in her line of work. 

Perhaps it was just that ear that allowed her to hear it: a whisp of a wind, almost like a breath. 

A creak on the stairs. An eerie sound in the dark, silent night. Beside her, the candle's flame flickered before it became still. 

Too still. 

Near perfectly straight. 

Penelope considered it for a moment before her gaze flicked to the door behind her. 

A door that was curiously ajar. 

She was certain that she'd closed it, lest her Mother walk past... 

She rose from the desk, bringing the candle with her as she moved toward the bedroom door, out into the hallway. She peered this way and that, then she heard it again. 

A creak - then a sound almost like a shuffle. 

Was that a... 

A laugh? 

"Prudence," she hissed into the dark, "This isn't funny, you know." 

She was met with silence. 

Ever determined to conquer her fears, rather than be a slave to them, Penelope clenched her jaw and ventured further, toward the stairs, down into the drawing room. Furniture cast unnerving shadows as she moved through the room, eyes scanning darkened corners for any sign of her sisters and whatever game they were playing. 

Still, nothing. 

Except a curtain that fluttered in the breeze. 

...A breeze that existed despite closed windows. 

Penelope held her breath and briefly considered going back upstairs. 

In a fleeting moment of insanity, she debated running across the streets to the Bridgerton house. She always felt safer there than she did in her own home. 

But, as mentioned, the urge was fleeting. 

It was silly. 

It was only a curtain. Perhaps someone had left the window open a crack. 

"We'll catch a chill," she muttered, almost scolding herself for being so afraid as she approached the offending drapery. 

She reached out with one pale, shaking hand. 

Grasped the rough, dense material... 

And threw it back with flare as her Mother's little Yorkshire Terrier darted out from behind it, causing Penelope to leap backward with a most undignified squeak. 

She covered her mouth, then allowed a small chuckle to pass between her lips. 

What had she been thinking, being so scared? 

Of course it had only been the dog. 

Perhaps writing such stories in the dead of night was not the best idea after all. 

Being that she was already downstairs, and she'd come all this way for nothing, and her nerves were all but fried, Penelope detoured to the kitchen to warm herself up a glass of milk before she returned to her room, deciding that it was most definitely time to call it a night, since it seemed as though her mind was starting to play tricks on her. 

She fell asleep quickly, but it was a light sleep at best. She kept being awoken by those creeks, and groans - a breath (a laugh?)... 

And, worst of all, a feeling. 

A deep, sickening, sinking feeling that she wasn't alone. 

A breath... 

A breath upon her cheek. 

He eyes flew open and, tembling as she held her own breath, Penelope rolled onto her back. 

And was greeted by a pale, gaunt face hovering over her own - a clammy, cold hand reached out to touch her hair, ran cold, clammy fingertips though her sleep mussed curls. 

She screamed. 

\--- 

Eloise Bridgerton was a woman with many secrets. 

...Alright, well, maybe not _many_ \- many may have been an exaggeration. 

But she held one rather large secret and, within that secret, she housed hundreds more. 

Secrets that would shake the very foundation of the ton if they ever learned of them, because the truth of the state of their world was far more frightening than they could have ever imagined. 

They were better off believing that an advantagous marriage was of the utmost importance, and that finding one was the most stressful ordeal that one would ever face - that seasons and balls and masquerades were the be all and end all of ones life (especially if one were a lady). 

So long as they were not a Bridgerton, of course. 

Eloise tended to believe that Penelope Featherington lingered in a world between the ton society and Bridgerton-dom. She toed that line in that she cared for marriage, and balls and banquets, and season after season of neglect and societal rejection and mockery, but Eloise also counted Penelope as her best friend. 

She existed in the Bridgerton's world as much as any member of the ton (or normal society in any form or standing) could be allowed to. 

Eloise believed that she knew Penelope Featherington like the back of her hand. 

So, when Penelope started to appear at said balls and banquets, skittish and jumpy, Eloise had to wonder why. 

Especially when the dark circles began to appear under her eyes (even make-up could not mask them, no matter how hard she tried). 

"Are you alright?" She asked one dreary day, the morning following one such skittish evening, as the pair strolled through the park, arm in arm. As they walked, and Eloise raised the question, Penelope balked (albeit very briefly before she, ever so slightly, shook her head at her own reaction) at a particularly shaded portion of the path. It was a gloomy sort of day, as was common for days spent in London, so, shadows and shades of grey surrounded them. 

Penelope tended to love the rain, so, her distaste for it on this particular day was strange in and of itself. 

Eloise wasn't known for her tact, really, so she was confident that Penelope would not find it odd of her to notice or mention it. 

Penelope gave a breathless, unconvincing chuckle, "Of course, Eloise. Just caught a bit of a chill, that's all," she lied (and Eloise recognized the lie because Penelope was looking just about everywhere but at her). 

"Alright," Eloise ventured, "Then let's go that way," she decided, pulling Penelope toward the darkened garden path. 

Penelope dug her heels in, "What? Why? This way is much more pleasant," she insisted, gesturing back the way they came. 

"We were just there, you ninny, now come on. I want to go this way," Eloise insisted. 

"No, Eloise," Penelope hissed, jerking her arm away with a glare. 

Eloise folded her arms across her chest, "Then tell me why not!" 

Penelope continued to glare as she straightened her skirts, peering around them to ensure no one was nearby, "Because," she stated lamely. 

"...because...?" Eloise prompted. 

Penelope sighed, shaking her head, "You'll think I'm mad." 

"Well, I already think you're mad, so you don't have to worry about that - " 

"I'm serious, Eloise. It's not funny." 

" _What's_ not funny?" 

Penelope again looked this way and that before she leaned in to hurriedly mutter something that Eloise didn't quite catch. She spoke so quickly and quietly, her cheeks bright red. 

Eloise frowned, leaning in as well, "Sorry?" 

"'monted." 

Again, so quick. So _quiet_. No more than a hiss of a sound and Eloise gave a frustrated huff. 

"Honestly, Penelope, I need you to speak up. I cannot understand a word you're say -" 

"I'm being haunted!" She all but shouted. Her gloved hands flew up to cover her mouth after her outburst. 

Eloise blinked, "Oh. Oh, yes, I can see how that would be a problem." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Can I see it?" 

"See what?" 

"Your spectre - the ghost. Can I see it?" 

"I - you...what?" Penelope floundered. 

"Well, you can hardly expect to tell me you have a ghost without showing it to me," Eloise scoffed, playing it off like mere skeptical interest when, in actuality, she needed to decern if there was truth to her statement and, if so, she would need to uncover the culprit, hit the books, and call a family meeting to decide what would be done about it. 

Colin was due home from Greece by the end of the week. 

She would need to have something concrete by then. 

Penelope narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "You're taking this rather well," she accused. 

"It's fascinating, isn't it? A real, live ghost. Well, not _live_ , I suppose. Not really. But certainly real, I hope," the act came easily to Eloise, for it was one that she had put on many times before. It wasn't unlike her to show a keen interest in all things strange and unusual (especially if they broke up the dull nature of their horrid existence as women). 

"That's easy for you to say. There's no... _demon_ watching you sleep." 

Again, Eloise blinked, quirking an eyebrow, "It watches you sleep?" 

Penelope fidgeted, giving a nod, "I think so. It's difficult to explain, really. It, uhm..." she reached up to touch a perfect, delicate curl. For a brief moment, as her shaky hand lingered, Eloise got the feeling that her mind had ventured somewhere else entirely. 

Eloise's lighthearted mood shifted, "Has it hurt you?" 

"No, no - not at all." 

Eloise gave a nod. 

"You could come by tonight?" Penelope suggested. 

"Yes," Eloise agreed, "Yes, I think that's a splendid idea. I would very much like to meet this ghost of yours," she mused, already pondering what little information Penelope had given her. 

Watching her sleep... 

She pondered this later that night, sitting on her swing (yes, she had dubbed it hers), staring up at Bridgerton house and thinking about whatever it was that haunted Penelope, and why it might have taken a particular interest in her dearest friend. 

She inhaled deeply from the cigarette in her hand. 

"Something troubling you, sister?" 

Eloise spared Benedict a half-glance as he joined her, offering the cigarette without a word of request from him, "Penelope suspects that she's being haunted," she explained. 

Benedict hummed as he took a drag, "Colin will be back soon." 

"The sooner the better if what she says is true." 

"You don't believe her?" 

Eloise gave a shrug, idly twisting the swing back and forth thoughtfully, "I believe that she believes it," she mused, "I'll be going there tonight to see for myself." 

"Be careful, Eloise," Benedict warned. 

Eloise waved him off, "She says it's been harmless thus far. I only want to know for sure. And I want to have a look around so that I have something to present when our dear brother does turn up." 

"Send Daphne in the meantime," Benedict suggested. 

Eloise gave her brother a tired look, "And you don't think that would rouse suspicion? Daphne has never been known to call on the Featheringtons. Besides, what would she tell Simon, hm?" 

"Fair point," Benedict allowed, handing back the half-depleted cigarette. 

Eloise toyed with her lip, "Colin's the best of us," she murmured, rolling her eyes, "I will kill you myself if you ever tell him I said so, but I want him to take it," she glanced over at him, giving the smallest, almost apologetic shrug, "It's Penelope." 

Benedict grinned, leaning his head gently against the rope that tethered his swing to the branch above them, "It's Penelope," he agreed, "Which is all the more reason for you to use every asset at your disposal. Call a meeting, we'll get to work while we await Colin's return. Let Daphne worry about what to tell Simon." 

Eloise sighed, dropping the butt of the cigarette into the dirt below and snuffing it out with the toe of her shoe. Benedict made a good point. While Colin as the strongest hunter they had (perhaps because he tended to be the most impulsive of them - the most willing), there was no sense in relying solely on him to take care of the problem when she could have the minds and skills of all of her siblings focused on this particular foe. 

After a brief moment, she gave a quick nod and rose from her seat, "I should be going. I will let you know if I find anything of interest to you." 

"I'll walk with you," Benedict insisted, rising as well before the pair began the short trek to the Featherington home. 

"Here," Benedict muttered, sliding the handle of a small knife into Eloise's awaiting palm, both taking great care to keep their hands close to their sides, hidden from curious eyes. 

"Iron?" 

"Of course," he scoffed, "Do you have - " 

"I have everything I need," Eloise assured him, "It's hardly my first time, you know," she teased, giving her brother a playful nudge. 

"Yes, but you and I both know that you, my dear sister, are usually far less hands-on than our siblings." 

"I'll be fine." 

"I have nothing but faith," he beamed as they arrived at their destination, "I'll be nearby if you have need of me." 

"That's not necessary - " 

Benedict held up a hand to silence her and then, with a smile, he turned to leave her - to go...linger wherever he intend to. 

Eloise rolled her eyes a final time before she stepped up to the front door, giving a sound knock. Eloise, who was a staple in the Featherington household, offered a bright smile and greeting to the gentleman who let her inside before she made her way up to Penelope's room (they hardly felt the need to escort her anywhere anymore). 

Penelope was waiting for her, hands in her lap as she sat on the edge of her bed, a book next to her. She shot up when Eloise entered. 

Eloise shut the door soundly behind her, "Did I miss it?" 

Penelope shook her head, "No, it won't come until late," she assured her. 

"Wonderful," Eloise beamed, already moving around the room, taking it in in a way she had never done before - she'd never really had reason to look too closely. 

"...what are you looking for?" Penelope asked. 

"Hmm?" Eloise acknowledged (just barely) as her keen eyes scanned over Penelope's belongings, "Where did you see it last?" 

"The bed." 

That gave Eloise pause. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

Penelope blushed, but stood tall, "The bed. It wakes me from my sleep sometimes." 

"Because it is in bed with you?" 

"No! No, not quite. It's..." she gestured upward, "Above me." 

Eloise looked up, tilting her head curiously as something on the ceiling caught her eye. She gestured wildly at Penelope, waving her over. 

Penelope hurried to her side, following her gaze, "What? What is it?" 

"I need a stool - something to stand on," Eloise told her. 

"I don't have a - will the chair do?" 

Eloise nodded and moved to help Penelope drag the chair over toward the bed, as close as possible, so that Eloise could climb atop it, rising up onto the tips of her toes to try to reach the suspicious substance she'd spotted on the ceiling. There, just above her, was the beginning of a crack, and a dark, thick, syrupy substance oozed from it. Eloise reached up to touch it with the tip of her middle finger, already knowing what, exactly, it was that she'd found. She pressed her fingers together, admiring the thick, sticky consistency as she climbed down off the chair. 

Penelope, too, considered the strange fluid, "What is it?" she breathed. 

Eloise swallowed, "Ectohumor." 

Penelope considered Eloise, now, brow furrowed, "What?" 

"Can you get me a jar?" She instructed, "I need to take a sample and then we must go. You will stay with us until Colin returns." 

"Colin?" Penelope repeated, her heart fluttering at the name, "Eloise, surely you don't intend to tell Colin any of this - " 

"Of course I do," Eloise stated simply, seeming to forget that Penelope was being left far behind in her train of thought, for Penelope still had absolutely no idea what it was that Eloise had found, or what it meant, or how Eloise knew anything about any of this or, least of all, what any of it had to do with Colin Bridgerton. 

"Eloise!" 

"I'll explain later, I promise. But for now, we must go. Please. You'll just have to trust me," Eloise explained shortly, pausing briefly to reach out with her clean hand to grasp Penelope's, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

Penelope may not have understood exactly what was going on, but, if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that she trusted Eloise with her life, and that what she had been seeing and experiencing was real. Somehow, Eloise not only believed her, but she seemed to already know more about it than Penelope herself, despite never having seen the very thing she'd come to witness. 

Perhaps Penelope should have been scared (and, in part, she was), but she was also intrigued. 

She nodded, "I trust you." 

Eloise beamed, "Now, the jar - " 

"Oh! Right! Yes," Penelope confirmed before she hurried away to get one (and, presumably, explain to her mother that she would be staying with Eloise for a short while. Eloise was sure that she would come up with some story that was adequate). 

Penelope was a fabulous storyteller, and a lover of fiction, after all. 

If there were to be anyone who could come up with the perfect lie, it would be her. 

She returned quickly, a small jam jar in hand. Eloise climbed back up onto the chair to gather what she needed while Penelope began to pack a bag, "How long will I need to stay?" 

Eloise shook her head, "I don't know - I'll have a better idea once I talk to my siblings." 

"See, now, you sort of keep saying things like that, and I - " 

"Penelope!" 

"Right - later." 

Eloise hopped off of the chair and helped Penelope pack, all the while keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of her companion's ghostly guest. 

Or pest, really. 

Penelope was reaching for a journal when the ghoul in question began to make an appearance as that same substance from the ceiling began to ooze out of a crack in the window pane - slowly at first, then picking up the pace as the spectre perhaps realized what they were doing. 

"Now. We must leave now." 

Penelope nodded and the girls hastily evacuated the bedroom. Penelope said rushed fairwells to her befuddled family before they were out the door, swiftly walking into the night. 

"Benedict?" Eloise called once they were a distance from the Featherington home. 

"Benedict?" Penelope repeated, looking around for any sign of the elder Bridgerton. 

"What did you find?" Benedict inexplicably called back as he hurried over to join them, seeming to materialize from the shadows and, honestly, somebody was going to have to offer up at least the tiniest bit of information quickly, because Penelope was losing her patience. 

She was not terribly fond of feeling so out of the loop. 

(It was a nasty, foreign feeling). 

Eloise didn't slow her pace as she handed over the jar. 

"Oh dear," Benedict mused, raising the jar up in the moonlight as he studied it, "That's not good." 

"What isn't?" 

"Ectohumor," Benedict murmured. 

Penelope huffed, "Yes, that I know, but _what is it_? And what does it mean?" 

Benedict glanced at his sister, then back to Penelope and opened his mouth to speak - 

"If you say, 'Later,' - " Penelope warned. 

Benedict's mouth snapped shut.


	2. Chapter 2

"So, your family hunts...these things?" Penelope clarified when 'later' finally came, while she paced back and forth in the Bridgerton guest quarters, trying to wrap her head around the fact that the bloody _Bridgertons_ \- a family she loved and adored, the family of her best friend and the man she _loved_ , for God's sake! A family Penelope followed and watched and _knew_ \- had somehow managed to keep such a miraculous, monumental, horrible secret from her for all these years.

And she had never suspected a thing. 

Granted, Penelope would have laughed in their faces if they had ever mentioned anything a month before now - before she'd witnessed the truth of these things for herself - but still! 

How? 

Eloise gave a sort of shrug, "Well, yes." 

"And Colin - " 

"Is on a hunting trip, yes," Benedict reiterated, "He should be back within a matter of days, if all went well." 

"And if it didn't?" 

The siblings glanced at each other, sharing a dark, worrisome look. Benedict swallowed. It was easily to understand what might cause such a weight behind their exchange of glances. 

"Oh," Penelope breathed, and that was just... 

Well, that was just too awful to consider. 

"But we received a letter from him Monday!" Eloise assured her. 

"Yes - and Colin is very, very good at what he does," Benedict added brightly. 

"Don't tell him we said that." 

Benedict nodded gravely, "We'd never hear the end of it," he murmured. 

Penelope lowered herself into the nearest chair, "I think I'd like a drink." 

"Water?" Eloise offered. 

Penelope shook her head. 

"Wine, maybe?" Eloise smiled, but it was sort of more of a grimace. 

"Brandy?" Benedict piped. 

"Yes, that," Penelope muttered decidedly, and Benedict set to work making her a glass. 

Eloise wrinkled her nose, "You don't drink brandy." 

"Yes, well, demons are real, I am being haunted, you hunt monsters, and Colin might very well be dead, so, I think this is as good a time as any to start, wouldn't you agree?" Penelope took a deep breath in an attempt to collect herself as Benedict handed her a glass, "Thank you." 

"My pleasure," he muttered. 

Penelope lifted the glass to her lips, taking a tentative sip at first. She wrinkled her nose at the taste (it was truly awful) before she simply continued, tipping the glass up more and more until the glass ran dry. 

"Erm, perhaps you should get some rest," Eloise suggested, "I shall send for Daphne in the morning - call for a family meeting on Friday?" 

"I think that is a great idea," Benedict agreed. 

"I do not think I can sleep," Penelope admitted, slumping back into her chair in a way that was most unladylike, but she just couldn't bring herself to care, "How do you sleep, knowing what you know?" she wondered aloud, looking between the pair. 

"Like a baby - " 

"With a knife under my pillow." 

"And salt on the nightstand." 

Penelope blinked up at them, "...I have so many questions." 

Eloise patted the back of her hand in a manner that was almost condescending, "And we shall do our best to answer them. For now, you need to rest. You're safe here." 

Penelope hummed, "You know, it's so strange..." 

The Bridgertons waited for her continue. 

"I've always felt that way when I've been here, with you and your family. Safe, I mean," she mused, hardly looking at them at all as she did so. Almost staring right through them, "Maybe, somehow, I always knew." 

She glanced up at them, then, offering a small, uncertain smile, "Maybe part of me always knew you would be able to protect me. From anything." 

Benedict smiled - softly, fondly, "Rest, Penelope. We will tell you everything in the morning." 

\----------------------------------------------------- 

And tell her everything they did. 

Well...perhaps not everything, because Penelope got the idea that everything would require a staggering amount of time and information and, while she was certain the Bridgertons possessed no shortage of the latter, the former was something they lacked (for now, at least). 

Now that she knew about this world in which they lived, Penelope wanted to know more. And she knew that there was absolutely no way that she would be able to return to life as she'd once known it. 

She existed in this world, now. Fully and completely. 

Eloise sent for Daphne, as she had said she would and, in the meantime, while they waited for her and for Colin, she gave Penelope books and literature. She gave her mountains of information that she had compiled over God knows how long - journals she had written herself, journals that Colin had kept on his travels (or, rather, his hunts). 

Anthony was horrified when he found out that they had told Penelope the truth. He came around eventually, of course, once he realized the circumstances under which his siblings had done so and even offered to teach Penelope how to protect herself - which substances should be used to ward off what particular sort of ghastly attacker. 

It was almost charming, how animated he got when describing each different weapon and substance and how it worked on which spook. 

It was a side of Anthony that Penelope had not had the pleasure of seeing. This version of Anthony was another person entirely. 

She supposed that maybe all of the Bridgertons took on a whole new persona when it came to such things. 

It was all so... 

_Fascinating_. 

If one were to look at it objectively, that is. The reality of it, Penelope was sure, would be much more terrifying to behold. 

But she found she was quite enthralled by the information Eloise had given her and Colin's journals, in particular, were positively thrilling. She could hardly tear herself away from them. 

The things he had seen - the things he had _fought_...

And killed. 

Good lord... 

She shuddered to imagine such battles. 

And he hid it so well. He was always smiles and charm, jokes and wit, and beneath it all, Colin had been at war with Hell itself for all these years. 

They all had. 

Daphne arrived Thursday night and, bless her heart, one of the first things she did was ensure that Penelope was alright. The eldest Bridgerton daughter sat with her well into the night, doing her best to explain this world to her - what it was like to harbor such a secret, how best to take care of oneself in every possible way, knowing what they knew. 

Where the others provided Penelope with practical skills and knowledge, Daphne addressed how Penelope might be feeling about it all - and how it would affect her from that point on as she carried on with life as she'd once known it, despite it all being turned on its head. 

Because they both knew that nothing could ever be the same. Not truly. 

Colin returned the following day, as expected, and Penelope felt a great weight leave her shoulders when his arrival was announced. 

He, however, hadn't been able to receive any correspondence explaining the situation at home, with Penelope. So, when he arrived, he was surprised to see her amongst the family when Eloise called their meeting. 

"...I've missed something," He concluded, rather astutely, before he reached to pluck a piece of cheese off a nearby platter, "Afternoon, Miss Featherington." 

Penelope nodded, "Colin. Glad to see you're well." 

He tilted his head curiously as he settled onto the loveseat, practically lounging, "Why wouldn't I be?" he grinned, tossing a grape into his mouth once he'd finished with the cheese. Colin, Penelope had always suspected, was sharper than he was ever given credit for. It was clear to anyone with any amount of intellect that something was amiss - and surely these family meetings usually pertained to their unique, secret line of work. 

Penelope glanced at the others, wondering who should be the one to inform Colin of the situation, because surely she was not the most qualified. 

"She knows, Colin," Anthony sighed. 

Colin's cocksure smile faltered, "I beg your pardon?" 

"She knows everything," Eloise repeated in a way that was most off-handed, like it required no further explanation. She leaned forward in her seat, biting her lip eagerly, "So what was it?" Eloise blurted, the question coming out of thin air - but it was coming from Eloise, so, that was perfectly expected. She has been practically bursting at the seams whilst awaiting his arrival. She'd likely held her curiosity at bay for as long as she could. 

"What was what?" 

"The grecian monster! The culprit. Was it a daeva?" 

"No - werewolf. Penelope knows?" Colin repeated, sitting up straight. 

"A werewolf," Penelope repeated in awe. 

"Damn!" Eloise snarled, folding her arms across her chest, "I was so sure..." 

"You couldn't have known - it was a very strange case. I'll tell you about it later," Colin reassured her off-handedly, surely having seen her opening her mouth to ask further questions. He turned his attention to Penelope, deciding that news of her knowledge of such things was a far more pressing matter (Penelope disagreed - she wanted to hear more about Colin's dealings with the werewolf), "You know about werewolves?" 

"Well, in theory, but I've never seen one - " 

"Obviously," Colin scoffed, "That is the point of keeping these things a _secret_ , after all," he stated, giving Eloise a pointed look. 

"Why do you assume it was me?!" 

"Because of course it was you! Who else would have told her?!" 

"Benedict - " 

"Excuse me, do not drag me down with you!" 

"You were there!" 

"I - " 

"Oh for the love of - she knows because she has seen for herself!" Anthony interjected, raising his voice to silence his siblings' bickering, "She is being targeted." 

"Targeted?" Colin frowned, glancing again at Penelope, before looking back to Anthony, "By whom? What for? Since when?" 

"Why do you think we've called a meeting, brother? Let the woman speak," Anthony rolled his eyes. He turned his attention to Penelope, gesturing toward her, "Miss Featherington, you have the floor." 

Penelope wondered if she should stand. The Bridgertons all seemed to have adopted rather casual stances, with Anthony leaning back against the desk, Eloise's feet propped up on an ottoman. Colin's previously relaxed position had been abandoned as he was now sitting forward, eyes boring into her with a keen, serious interest that Penelope had never seen from him before. 

She remained seated (if only because she was sure that her legs would be far to weak to hold her upright under such a gaze). 

"W-Well, it..." She swallowed, looking to Eloise for help, "I am afraid I do not know where to begin." 

"When did it start?" Colin prompted, the softness in his voice a stark contrast to the seriousness of his gaze. 

"About a month ago." 

"And what happened, exactly?" 

With shaking hands, Penelope described that first night to him - specifically to Colin because she found that she couldn't tear her gaze away from his. Somehow, telling him and _only_ him was easier than addressing a full audience of Bridgertons, although she was certain that they were all hanging off of her every word. 

She paused when she got to the part in her bedroom, when she had awoken to the presence hovering over her. Her cheeks flushed, " - and then it..." Again, like in the park, she reached to touch her hair. 

Colin raised a single, dark brow, just ever so slightly, green eyes flicking to follow her hand. 

"It what?" Daphne prompted quietly, gently. 

It felt intimate - like it was something uncomfortable and scandalous, despite the unnatural nature of the event. The way it had looked at her, touched her cheek and her hair with such reverence... 

It made her shiver. 

"Do we need to know this?" Eloise interjected, sensing her friend's discomfort. 

"It touched you?" Colin concluded simply, his voice clear of any distaste or judgement. Likely carefully so, for Penelope could hear some level of strained control in his tone. 

She nodded. 

"Has it hurt you?" 

She shook her head. 

He nodded, "Interesting..." 

"Is it?" 

Again, a simple nod, "Have you seen it since?" 

"Yes," she breathed. 

"And this happens every time?" 

She shook her head. 

"But it has happened more than once?" Daphne clarified. 

Again, a nod, "Yes. Only when I am meant to be asleep. Sometimes I..." She glanced back at Colin, swallowing, "Sometimes I pretend to still be asleep in hopes that it will leave me alone, but it lingers. Touches my hair, my face, my..." _My neck_. 

Colin, too, swallowed, his jaw clenching. 

"I also found this - " Eloise added, rising to retrieve the jar from the desk on which Anthony sat, handing it over to Colin for him to inspect, "It was coming from the ceiling above her bed, then it began to come from the windows when we were preparing to leave. It was almost as though it knew I was taking her." 

"When was this?" 

"Tuesday night." 

"Have you seen it since then?" He asked, again addressing Penelope directly, "Has it materialized here?" 

"No, not yet." 

"It must be bound to the house," Anthony concluded. 

"Or something in it," Benedict added. 

"Or it could very well be bound to _her_ ," Daphne countered. 

"If that's the case, then it will follow her here and we'll know for certain. Has someone been keeping watch over her suite?" Colin asked. 

"Benedict and I have been taking shifts," Anthony nodded. 

"You have?" Penelope gasped, because she had not been told that anyone would be lurking around her room at night, "I should have liked to have known that!" 

"For what reason? To frighten you even more?" Anthony challenged. 

"It would not have frightened me but I have a right to know that I'm being _watched_." 

"Penelope, please allow me to officially state that, from this point forward, you are being watched," Colin informed her plainly. 

"How gracious of you to let me know, Colin," She uttered sarcastically, "Thank you." 

"You're welcome," he beamed, far to thrilled by her irritation. 

Penelope shifted, "Watched by whom, exactly?" She clarified, because it was one thing to have Benedict or Anthony hovering outside her door, but it was another entirely for her to lie awake knowing that Colin Bridgerton was mere feet away from her bed. 

He shrugged, "Any of us will do. We'll take turns." 

"Oh. Lovely." 

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling upward ever so slightly, eyes glinting playfully, "Did you have a preference?" 

She shook her head quickly. 

" _Lovely_ ," he parroted back, his tone teasing. 

"In the meantime," Eloise interrupted, "I will see if I can find any written history on the Featherington estate," she looked to Penelope, "Would you know the spectre's face if you saw it? In a painting, perhaps." 

Penelope nodded, "I believe so, yes." 

It wasn't a face she would soon forget. 

Eloise rose, brushing out her skirt, "It's settled, then. Penelope and I shall discover what we can about the estate while we're waiting to see if it turns up here." 

"And once we know who we are looking for, we can deal with it accordingly," Daphne concluded. 

"'Who'?" Penelope questioned, "Not 'what'?" 

Daphne and Colin shared a look, "I suspect we know 'what'." 

"We do?" 

"We knew rather quickly," Eloise admitted apologetically. 

"Did anyone have any intention of telling me?" Penelope huffed, becoming annoyed by their reluctance to be honest with her, considering she was the most affected by these events. 

"Well, you already know what it is, Penelope," Benedict reasoned, "It's a spirit." 

"An angry one..." Daphne murmured darkly, plucking the jar of ectohumor from Colin's grasp to study it for herself. 

It wasn't terribly exciting - not after hearing that Colin had just finished dealing with a werewolf, "Oh..." she paused, "Not a demon?" 

Anthony chuckled, "No, Miss Featherington, it is not a demon." 

"So the question remains," Colin mused, considering her thoughtfully, " _Who_ is this spirit and what does it want with you?" 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (hi friends! i'm sorry for any typos or anything in this one. i shifted some things around last minute here and, despite my best efforts to edit, i'm sure i missed some things but i wanted to get something up for y'all!)
> 
> thanks to everyone who has commented and left kudos and all of that! i love talking to you guys and hearing what you think. it's so awesome and encouraging, so, thank you! <3

Later that night, when everyone had retired to their respective rooms, Penelope found that sleep evaded her. Colin's question lingered in her mind:

_Who is this spirit and what does it want with you?_

What indeed... 

Penelope was used to being invisible. She was accustomed to lingering on the sidelines at parties and balls, completelu unnoticed by those around her. She'd learned to be okay with not been seen - with her own insignificance (even if she longed for something more). 

This particular sort of attention, or this means toward obtaining the attention of the one she desired most, was far less than ideal. 

Her mind was racing and, despite being a guest in this house, Penelope found herself wandering in an attempt to clear her head (since making a bit of warm milk was likely out of the question). 

It was on this walk that she heard the hushed, passionate discussion happening in the study - saw the flickering candlelight through the small crack in the door... 

Apparently, everyone had _not_ retired for the night... 

"What it wants is clear," Anthony was hissing insistently. 

Curiosity had always been on of Penelope's most fatal flaws and, especially upon hearing the subject of their debate, she couldn't help but slow her meandering and lean closer to hear more. 

"It wants her," he continued, "If we want to draw it out, we need only look within our own home!" 

"Anthony, surely you are not suggesting - " 

"Of course I am, sister! We cannot continue to sit idly by, waiting for a strike that will never come. If we know now that the spectre is tethered to the Featherington estate, and we know that it will come for her, we know precisely how to lure it out. I cannot be the only one who sees the clearest solution to our problem." 

"We are not using Penelope as bait," Colin all but growled. 

Penelope's breath caught. 

"We would be right there, waiting and ready," Anthony insisted, "She would be in no danger - " 

"How would you propose we do that? Lady Featherington would never allow - " 

"There is a tree outside my window," Penelope blurted, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. 

"Penelope - " Daphne began. 

Colin cursed. 

Penelope shook her head, "There is a tree just outside my bedroom window. It would be easy to climb. Besides: Mama is set to leave to visit my uncle in the country Saturday morning. I can pretend to be ill to stay behind. We would have the house to ourselves. I will return home tomorrow night after Lady Danbury's ball, and - " 

"No, you will not. We'll find another way," Colin informed her decidedly. 

"Be reasonable, brother," Anthony demanded. 

"I will not use her as bait!" Colin snarled in return. 

Daphne reached to touch his arm, "I'm afraid that's not for you to decide," she reminded him, her voice firm as she glanced in Penelope's direction. 

Penelope nodded, "No one is using me. I'm offering," she assured him, offering what she hoped to be a reassuring smile. 

Colin looked less than comforted. He shook his head, "No." 

"If it were anyone else..." Benedict began, "Colin, you know this will work." 

"I can do this," Penelope insisted, even if she felt less than certain. 

Colin stared at Penelope, his expression hard - not cold, but certainly not filled with the warmth she'd come to expect from Colin when he looked at her, "Do you understand what it is you are offering?" 

"It has never hurt me." 

"Yet." 

Penelope swallowed, but stood tall, "I will go home. I will sleep in my own bed, and I will draw out the spirit. When it comes, you will be there." 

The pair considered each other and, if Penelope hadn't known better, she might've thought she felt a tension settle between them - a sort of fire that might've been mistaken as a spark, or passion, were it between any other two people. 

But this was her, and this was Colin, and surely the tension she felt was only due to their unique circumstances and the dangerous nature of the matter at hand. 

Despite it, and despite his steely gaze, Penelope held her ground. 

"I will," he confirmed finally, with the utmost certainty - a promise. 

"Then I shall have no reason to worry." 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

What Penelope had not accounted for when she had begun her stay with the Bridgertons was that society would carry on around them, as would the regular social season - no matter what danger lingered over her head. 

They were still expected and required to attend banquets and balls, soirees and musicales. 

Despite what they were dealing with in shadow, they had to maintain a careful facade of normalcy. 

"I shall have to return home to dress," Penelope informed Eloise the afternoon of Lady Danbury's annual ball, "We left in such a hurry, I did not think to bring any formal attire..." 

Eloise hummed, "I'll go with you." 

Penelope waved her off, "Don't be silly - it won't come during the day," she assured her. 

...or would it? 

"Will it?" She checked, just to be certain. 

"I don't believe so," Eloise agreed, "My brothers will be furious, however, if I allow you to go alone." 

Penelope chuckled, "It's so unlike you to defer to your brothers' opinions. Besides: I will need to spend tonight at home regardless, and I cannot have any of you lingering about before Mama takes her leave tomorrow morning." 

Eloise shifted, folding her arms across her chest in a manner that indicated that she was far less than pleased. 

"I will not be alone," Penelope added, "Mama will be there. As will my sisters, and the staff - " 

Eloise gave her a pointed look, "You know it's not the same. Imagine your Mama facing off against the undead - " 

Penelope sighed. She made a valid point. The Lady Featherington was just as likely to shove her into the path of the monster to save herself as she was to help her in any way, "What would you have me do, Eloise? We are not meant to draw suspicion, and it will be suspicious if you or any of your brothers, heaven forbid, accompany me home to prepare for a _ball_. And if I am to feign illness, I need to present long enough for her to witness it!" 

Eloise stuck her nose up. 

"It is only one night," Penelope pointed out. She'd been dealing with this on her own for months - surely she could handle one more night without Bridgerton protection. 

Eloise gave an indignant huff before she shoved herself out of her chair, practically storming out of the room, leaving Penelope to wonder if she were truly so angry that she would simply leave her there to stew in her uncertainty. Penelope sat, wondering whether or not she was meant to wait, for just long enough that she was about to stand to leave when Eloise returned, juggling an assortment of objects, "Take these," she insisted, shoving the hoard into Penelope's arms. 

Penelope glanced down, "What are they?" 

"Protection." 

"...is that table salt?" Penelope wondered aloud, plucking a jar from the pile and considering the white granules it contained. She remembered that Eloise had once mentioned that she kept salt on her bedside table, and Anthony had mentioned that it could be used to ward off certain entities... 

"It is a deterrent," Eloise corrected, "...but yes, it's also table salt." 

"Right..." She plucked a flask next, choosing to forego pointing out that she had salt of her own in her home, "Does holy water work on spectres?" 

"Some!" 

Penelope hummed. There was also a letter opener amongst Eloise's parting gifts and, honestly, Penelope was afraid to ask what she was meant to do with _that_... 

Instead, she thanked Eloise for her protective trinkets and took her leave, juggling the objects in her arms as she returned to the guest quarters to retrieve a bag in which to carry them. 

She was on her way to the front door, bag in hand, when Colin darted into her path, "And where do you think you're going?" he demanded, accusatory eyes darting to the bag she carried. 

"Home. To dress for the ball." 

"Like hell you are. You can dress here." 

Again, she sighed (damned Bridgertons...), "Colin - " 

"Penelope." 

She glared at him, "I have to maintain normal appearances, correct?" 

"Correct." 

"And _normally_ , I would dress for a ball at home, with my family, and arrive to said ball in my family carriage, with said family." 

"Well, tonight you will simply arrive with _my_ family," he stated plainly. 

And, just...the sheer audacity of a man, "You know I can't do that." 

"Why not?" 

"People will talk." 

"So let them." 

Penelope placed her free hand on her hip, "And what would I wear?" she challenged. 

"Borrow something from Eloise." 

Penelope laughed aloud at that. 

Colin smiled, albeit a bit uncertainly, "What? What'd I say?" 

"You think - " she let out a most unflattering snort as she desperately tried to compose herself (Colin's smile widened), "You think a dress that is fitted for _Eloise_ would fit me? Truly?" 

He frowned, then shifted his weight in discomfort as he realized the error in his suggestion, "I...well - " 

Penelope patted his arm sweetly, "Colin. I'm going to go home to dress. I will see you at the ball," she stepped around him and, as she passed, she felt him snatch the bag from her grasp. 

She whirled on him, "What are you - " 

"I'm escorting you home," he informed her simply, brightly, as he strolled past her toward the front door. 

"It's a five minute walk!" 

"All the more reason for me to walk with you as it will take no time at all." 

Penelope huffed as he carried on toward the door, out onto the lawn, forcing her to chase after him, "At least allow me to carry my own bag!" 

"I've got it." 

"You're making a _scene_." 

"Am I? You seem to be the one causing a commotion - I am simply walking," he beamed as she finally caught up to him, falling into step at his side. 

"You're too stubborn for your own good, you know that?" 

"Rich, coming from you." 

Penelope gaped at him as he grinned back at her, and she had the sneakiest suspicion that she should take that as a compliment. 

Her cheeks flushed and she bit back a smile of her own, "Touche." 

"Indeed." 

They walked in amiable silence for a brief while before he spoke again, "Ideally I should like to accompany you inside," he pointed out, the earlier teasing gone from his tone. 

"Mama would have a field day." 

"Yes, that is but the only reason why I will refrain from doing so." 

"It is very likely that she would faint from the excitement." 

He pursed his lips thoughtfully, "That _could_ make it worthwhile." 

Penelope swatted him in the arm, even as she giggled at the image herself, "We cannot get her hopes up like that - it would be too cruel." 

He frowned at that, slowing to turn toward her, "What do you mean?" 

Penelope flushed, shaking her head, "Nothing." 

"No, what is it?" 

"It's just..." Penelope cleared her throat, holding her head high, "A world in which a man like you would be interested in courting a woman like me is one she has only dreamed of." 

He blinked, even looking mildly offended by the remark, "Would that be so surprising?" 

"What?" 

"My being interested in you." 

Penelope stared at him, mouth agape. Colin was no fool - and, for all his wonderful, sweet, kind qualities, he was also not a modest man. He knew that he was desirable. 

More than that: he was one of the ton's most eligible bachelors. Women swooned at a mere polite smile from Colin Bridgerton (Penelope had seen it happen). Surely he had to know that the very idea of him being _attracted_ to her, of all people, was, well...almost absurd. At the very least, it was highly unlikely and deeply unexpected, " _Yes_." 

"And why is that?" 

"I - Colin," she scolded, because surely he was having her on with this hypothetical discussion because never in her wildest dreams would Penelope have ever truly believed that Colin Bridgerton would spare her more than a friendly smile and kindly offered pity dance, "The only man that has ever shown any true interest in me is a spectre that haunts my bedroom in the dead of night." 

Colin's jaw clenched, "That isn't funny." 

"Perhaps not," she allowed, "But it _is_ true." 

Colin shook his head in frustration, but said nothing more on the matter as they carried on toward the Featherington estate. Penelope, however, got the impression that he had a great deal more to say and was just choosing, for whatever reason, to bite his tongue for the time being. 

She knew Colin, you see. She knew him like the back of her hand. 

There were things he was choosing not to say. 

The silence that settled between them this time around was far less amiable. 

One might've even gone so far as to call it 'tense.' 

\-------------------------------------------------------------- 

Being back in her bedroom, even while the sun still lingered in the sky, was eerie. 

Gone was the ectohumor that had oozed from the windowpanes when she and Eloise had fled that fateful Tuesday night just a week prior. Penelope's eyes glanced toward the ceiling and, while the crack remained, the evidence of the spectre's presence seemed to have vanished into thin air. 

She supposed that was how these things worked - they simply vanished at will. 

She couldn't help but wonder if it knew she was back - if it was watching from somewhere, wherever it was, or if maybe it could sense her return. 

Had it come in the nights since she'd been away and wondered where she'd gone? 

Was it capable of such complex thoughts? 

So many questions... 

Swallowing, Penelope forced her mind away from the spectre and set to work dressing for the evening ahead. She went with a green gown (to match a certain shade that had been wandering through her mind even moreso than usual, since she'd been residing in Bridgerton House), then moved to the vanity to select jewelery to match. 

The necklace she chose was a gift from her Mother. It was almost an antique, not something purchased new, which was odd for Portia Featherington, but Penelope had found it to be one of her more thoughtful gifts because it had a story. Indeed, it was a story that Penelope did not know, but she took a great deal of pleasure in knowing that it had a lived a life before it had come into her possession mere months ago. 

She liked to let her mind wander, wondering where it had been, and the things it had seen... 

What had happened to the woman who'd worn it before her... 

Once she was satisfied with her fashions for the evening, she joined her family downstairs and allowed one of the maids to assist her with her corset, then her hair and make-up. Her mother huffed at her choice of dress and offered her demanding opinions of her hair and make-up but, ultimately, Penelope took her suggestions, but also ensured that, in the end, she was happy with how she turned out. 

They had reached a certain understanding in the recent years, as Penelope had grown into a woman and her mother began to give up hope of her wedding a top tier suitor (although hopes had been small to begin with in the department). It was understood that, ultimately, Penelope would be allowed to dress herself so long as Portia was allowed to offer her own insights here and there. 

A compromise, if you will. 

Her mama simply liked to feel involved, even if she no longer held any real control over the situation anymore. 

Once every Featherington was appropriately dressed and approved by their mama, they stepped out into the evening air, into the carriage, and departed for Lady's Danbury's soiree. 

Penelope watched out the window as they passed through the streets of the ton and she found her mind wandering back into the dark and mysterious world of the Bridgerton family. What things had they seen lurking in darkened alleyways, in hallowed halls, in what others would view as a benign dwelling or some Lady or Lord... 

_Werewolves_ , for instance... 

Colin had just been dealing with one such beast, and Penelope wondered what it must have looked like - and if he'd dealt with one before. He must have, surely, to be so confident as to pursue one in a foreign country. She wondered how such a creature managed to lurk among them, undetected by the untrained eye. 

Would she be able to recognize something unnatural now that she knew such things existed? 

Perhaps she simply hadn't been looking properly before... 

Penelope gasped as she felt the sharp jab of an elbow in her side, "Ow!" she protested, glaring at her sister. 

"We're here," Prudence announced with a superior sniff before she scooted over and stepped out of the carriage. 

Attending a ball, knowing everything she knew now - knowing that she would return to a house, a bedroom, that was haunted once it was over. 

It was absurd. 

\--- 

Colin hated this plan. 

Yes, he had allowed many a person to play the role of bait in the past. It was an excellent way to trap an entity, but never had it been someone he knew - someone he cared for. Colin was not the sort to put the people he loved in harms way. 

_Loved_... 

Colin cared for Penelope Featherington. 

He knew very little more than that about what he felt toward her (it was a feeling that was very, very new to him, brought about by the intensity of their current circumstances), but he knew with the utmost certainty that the idea of deliberately placing her in danger made his stomach turn. 

And he didn't want to let her out of his sight. 

Logically, of course, he knew that the spirit wouldn't materialize in Lady Danbury's home, in the middle of an evening ball, but regardless, he watched Penelope Featherington like a hawk. 

When she moved along the edges of the dancefloor, Colin mirrored her from the other side. 

When he was requested for a dance, he knew that Daphne or Anthony would fill in for him as her shadow. Even if they didn't completely understand him, they knew that this was important to him, and they did as he asked without question. 

Penelope was no idiot. 

She knew the Bridgertons were keeping an eye on her. 

And, if she were to be honest, she was always at least the tiniest bit aware of Colin, no matter the occasion (even when he wasn't playing the role of her shadow). 

So, of course she'd noticed that he was everywhere she was on this particular evening. 

It was a bit ridiculous to be dancing around each other all night when he clearly intended to stick close to her and she obviously wanted to be near him. 

And so, Penelope took it upon herself to close the gap between them and join him on the other side of the floor once he'd finished his most recent waltz, "Mister Bridgerton," she greeted. 

"Miss Featherington," he offered in return. 

She curtsied, he bowed, they followed all the necessary formalities, and Penelope grinned up at him knowingly, "It appears you weren't joking when you said I would be watched," she teased. 

He grinned in return, "Oh, I never joke," he countered with mock seriousness. 

"Of course not," she agreed, matching his playfully grim tone, "It does, however, seem slightly unnecessary in such a public setting, don't you think?" 

He hummed, "Perhaps, but one can never be too careful." 

"Really?" she turned to him in interest, "Have you ever - " she stopped herself when he glanced at her with a single, dark brow raised. 

"Not really the time nor the place, Pen," he pointed out. 

"Right. Yes," she agreed, deflating slightly. She was terribly curious... 

He must've noted her disappointment, "I do have stories, though," he assured her. 

Penelope beamed, "I'm sure you do. I'd love to hear them." 

"Some other time, maybe?" He offered, almost hopefully. 

Penelope nodded eagerly, "Yes, please." 

"For now," he offered his hand, "You should dance with me." 

"Oh, should I?" 

"Mhm," he hummed brightly, waiting for her to accept his hand before he led her out onto the dance floor. 

It was a couples dance, which allowed them to remain close enough to speak (and close enough for Penelope to enjoy the embrace). 

"We should discuss tonight," he muttered, pulling her ever so slightly closer, keeping his voice low so that others would not hear. 

Penelope shivered, "I thought this was not the time nor place." 

He squeezed her hip - a warning, "What did Eloise give you?" he asked, ignoring her little quip. 

Penelope peered around. People were staring, but not because they could hear them. 

Because of their proximity. Because the members of the ton were ever a nosy bunch and they desperately wanted to know what Colin Bridgerton was whispering in Penelope Featherington's ear. 

It must've appeared dangerously intimate. 

"Pen?" he prompted. 

"Salt," she began, averting her gaze from the curious glances of partygoers, "A letter opener, if you can believe it - " 

"That." 

Penelope frowned, looking up at him (and, good lord, she truly had not realized just how close he really was. Their noses nearly brushed...), "What about it?" 

"Keep it under your pillow. If it comes tonight, you can use it to rid yourself of it should it try to touch you again." 

She blushed, "How?" 

"It's iron. It deters spirits. Use it as a weapon." 

Penelope's stomach turned, "Colin, I couldn't - " 

"You can," he insisted, holding her just a bit tighter, "It'll pass through it like air, but it will feel it, and it will leave you be," he promised, "Trust me." 

She swallowed, but nodded. 

And if she held a bit tighter to him, too, then, well... 

So be it.


	4. Chapter 4

Whatever sense of bravery Penelope had possessed when she'd insisted that she would be fine to return home for the night began to fade as the festivities came to an end. It was easy to be brave in the company of the Bridgertons, with their protection and the comfort of their presence.

Now that the time had come to return home, to that room, in the night, in the dark, on her own, Penelope was frightened. 

She looked back one final time before she climbed into the carriage, to where Colin stood with his siblings, and he gave her a reassuring nod as Anthony laid a hand on his shoulder. 

Penelope, for her part, did her best to smile in return before she turned away from him - from them - and began her journey home. 

The moment she was inside, undressed and in her nightgown, Penelope went to her dresser to retrieve the letter opener. She turned it over in her hands, feeling the cool weight of it in her palm. She gripped the handle, as if to weaponize it, and tried to get used to such a feeling. 

She couldn't imagine that she'd be able to go through with what Colin had instructed her to do. She regretted not allowing Anthony to show her how to defend herself - _properly_ show her. She'd been so sure that she'd never need to know. It had seemed silly at the time. 

Now, faced with Colin's obvious concern for her being home alone with this creature, and the prospect of facing it again, it hardly seemed silly at all. 

Nothing could have been more serious. 

And the thought of _stabbing someone_. 

Or, rather, some _thing_... 

Of course, she knew that the spectre could not really, truly be harmed by her actions (for he was already dead, of course), but Penelope had never had cause to be a violent woman. 

It made her sick to imagine it. 

But, never-the-less, she tucked the blade under her pillow, as he'd told her to, before she took a deep breath and climbed into bed. 

Maybe it would not come that night. 

It was with that hope, and with Colin's voice in her head telling her that _she could do this_ that Penelope finally, slowly, fitfully, drifted off to sleep... 

_"You came back to me."_

She did not know what time it was when she heard it - when she felt that far too familiar, cold caress across her cheek. Penelope kept her eyes tightly shut, feigning sleep as her hand slowly drifted beneath her pillow to grasp the letter opener. 

_"I knew you would,"_ the voice cooed gently in her ear and, God, it was as though she could somehow feel his breath on her cheek, even though she knew that was absurd - he had no need to breathe. 

But she felt it none-the-less, and it sent a shiver down her spine. 

Her grip tightened around the handle of the letter opener and, as the cool hand began to drift down over her neck, with Colin's voice telling her, _Now_ , Penelope rolled over and drove the iron blade into the spectre's forearm. 

She expected the feeling to be sickening but, as Colin had promised, it passed through like air, but the ghastly spirit gave a yowl before is dissipated into thin air. 

She laid awake the rest of the night, the blade clutched to her chest, awaiting the spectre's return. 

It never came. 

\------------------------------------------------------------- 

"We should have been there," Colin growled the following morning. 

Anthony and Colin had arrived at the Featherington estate once Portia and the rest of the Featheringtons had departed for their countryside visit. They listened intently while Penelope relayed the previous night's events to them. 

"We knew it would come to her," Anthony reasoned, "This is good." 

"It is?" Penelope clarified while Colin paced. 

Anthony nodded, "It means it knows you're here, and it will come back - " 

"And I'll be waiting," Colin finished, flipping Penelope's letter opener over casually in his grasp. Penelope watched the dexterity of his fingers in fascination. 

Anthony gestured to his brother, "Precisely," he beamed. 

Penelope blinked, clearing her throat, "Waiting where, exactly?" 

Colin shrugged. 

"Just outside the room," Anthony offered, giving Colin a _look_ that Colin pointedly and deliberately did not acknowledge. 

Penelope glanced between the two, "...alright..." 

"We'll need to take a look around," Anthony informed her, "Try to see if there are any suspicious items that might be the source of our problem." 

Penelope frowned, "I thought the spirit was the problem." 

"It is, but something is binding it here - to you," Colin explained. 

"Oh." 

"A portrait, perhaps?" Anthony offered, "These things are often tied to their immortalized likenesses." 

"I don't think we have a portrait of him anywhere. I should think I would have noticed if we did." 

Anthony hummed, then proceeded to peer around the room as though a portrait of the ghost would just... _be there_ , hanging on the walls without Penelope realizing it, despite her reassurance that he would not find one. 

It would have been insulting, but it was Anthony. 

It was to be expected. 

"A mirror?" Colin suggested, "I dealt with a woman in Italy who died in front of a mirror and her soul became trapped inside of it." 

"I - well, we do have mirrors," Penelope allowed, "But - " 

"We shall start there. Well done, Colin," Anthony beamed, already setting off to begin inspecting the Featherington mirrors. 

"Alright..." Penelope conceded with the slightest hesitation. It was a bit strange to have Colin and Anthony inspecting her home so thoroughly. She wasn't entirely sure how they would be able to tell that a spirit was tied to a mirror just by looking at it, but she followed their ventures, watching in interest as they carefully inspected each one, talking amongst themselves as they went. 

Despite her having already ruled out the possibility of a painting being the source of the problem, they did take time to examine portraits (front and back, when they were able to do so). 

By the time they were through, hours upon hours had passed, and Penelope had long given up trying to keep up with them and had instead settled in the informal sitting room to read, glancing up now and then when either Bridgerton happened to pass her by, or approached her with a question about some object or another. 

The sun was beginning to set and, between the two of them, they had a gathered a number of assorted objects from around the estate for Eloise and Benedict, respectively, to sort through and try to discern if any of them might be the tie they were searching for. 

Anthony decided he would return to Bridgerton House to deliver their suspects while Colin remained to witness their spectre - perhaps, when it appeared, he might obtain some clue as to its source, they explained - and, of course, to ensure Penelope would not have to face it alone. 

For that, she was grateful. 

It was strange, retiring for the night with Colin in her home. Penelope was not accustomed to having a man in her home - least of all Colin Bridgerton. He had a presence about him that made her constantly, incessantly, acutely aware that he was _there_. 

Or, perhaps, that was just her usual awareness of him. 

She did her best to go through her nightly routine as usual, even tucking the faithful letter opener back under her pillow (just in case). 

Penelope was just pulling back the covers to climb into bed when the bedroom door opened behind her and Colin slipped inside. 

She gave a yelp of surprise when she spotted him, "For God's sake, Colin!" she chastized, realizing that she was in her nightgown. It was a modest gown, to be sure, but far less so than her regular clothing. It certainly exposed more of her to his gaze than she had ever imagined he would see. 

She folded her arms in front of herself, trying her best to maintain some seblance of modesty, "I thought you were to wait outside..." She murmured, cheeks flushed. 

Colin, for his part, had also noticed that she was in nothing more than her thin, white nightgown, her hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders. The way she folded her arms did not do what she had hoped it would, and the flush in her cheeks... 

Well. 

He couldn't imagine a time when she had looked better. 

He cleared his throat, "Hardly. Suppose I couldn't get in quick enough." 

"Quick enough for what?" 

" _Presicely_." 

Penelope frowned at the odd response, because it was no response at all really, "That doesn't..." she licked her lips, shifting her weight, "Are you going to wait in here all night?" 

"If I must," he revealed simply, making himself comfortable in her desk chair. He laid out a few things upon the top of her vanity - odd things. Things she'd never imagined him carrying. 

Various weapons, to be precise. 

She swallowed. 

He followed her concerned stare, then cleared his throat, "Just...go to sleep, Pen." 

Penelope's gaze flicked back to him. 

Colin Bridgerton, in her bedroom, looking up at her from her desk while she stood utterly indecent in front of him and, suddenly, the weapons were the least of her problems. They were hardly a concern at all, frankly, and certainly they were the last thing on her mind because he'd brought such things, and was here now, only to protect _her_. 

If Penelope were ever to count herself as a woman who might swoon, this would have been the occasion, "I don't know that I can," she admitted quietly. 

"I'll be right here," Colin assured her, presumably aiming to comfort her, as he must have assumed that she was frightened and that was what would be preventing her from sleeping. 

"That is precisely the problem," She muttered, cheeks growing warmer at her own boldness. 

Colin considered her for a moment from where he sat, his expression indiscernable. After a moment, he rose and began to approach her with slow, deliberate steps, "Do I unnerve you?" he murmured, tilting his head with an unmistakable glint in his eye. 

Penelope's hackles rose at the teasing in his tone and she dropped her arms to settle her hands on her hips, "Do not mock me, _Sir_." 

"' _Sir_?'" he repeated with a quirk of his brow, practically beaming now as he stopped before her (far closer than he should have been, given her state of undress and the potentially compromising position she would be in if anyone where to enter her room). 

Oddly enough, however, she couldn't quite bring herself to care. 

She flushed, but refused to divert her gaze from his. It was a battle of nerve, now - a matter of pride, you see - and she refused to allow him to best her. 

He reached up, then, and Penelope's breath caught as his fingertips trailed along the swooping neckline of her night gown - just ever so delicately, barely a touch at all, but when those fingertips brushed against her skin, Penelope shivered. 

His gaze had been following the path of his fingers, almost curiously, as though he were entranced by it, but it returned to her own at her reaction to the touch, "My intention was not to mock you," he muttered, "It was an honest question." 

She didn't doubt him. His tone had changed, gone was the earlier, playful edge. This was something different - something new and exciting. 

Perhaps even fragile, for she didn't want to say the wrong thing and break whatever trance he seemed to have found himself in that was driving him to touch and regard her with such reverence. 

An honest question, however, was deserving of an honest answer, "Yes," she breathed. 

"Yes what?" He wondered aloud as he toyed absently with the shoulder of her gown - where the fabric met the skin of her neck. 

"You unnerve me." 

He grinned, then - a devilish, lovely, cocky sort of thing, "Good." 

They were so close that they were chest to chest. The air between them felt thickened and electric - _magnetic_. Penelope tilted her chin up as he leaned down, until their lips were mere inches apart. Her exposed flesh became covered in goosebumps, their breath mingled in the air between them, and - 

And Penelope could see it. 

She could _see_ the very breaths they took as they produced a mist that settled in the air that separated them. 

"Colin..." she whispered uncertainly, voice unsteady. 

He must have noticed it, because he, too, had paused and gave an inperceptible nod, peering around, "Does it normally begin like this?" 

Penelope shook her head as he turned his back to her. She was shivering in earnest, now, as her bedroom temperature became arctic - colder than it had ever been, even in the harsher winter months. Colin reached back with a hand on her hip to place her behind him. Penelope grasped onto the fabric of his coat, "Never." 

She watched in horror as black tar dripped down onto the floor in front of them, then ran down the walls all around them - oozed from the windowpanes... 

_Ectohumor_. So much more than she'd seen that night when Eloise had come to whisk her away to safety. 

"You should go," Colin instructed glancing at her over his shoulder. 

"What? No - " 

"Now, Penelope!" 

The words had barely left his lips before Penelope's eye was caught by a third, sourceless cloud of frozen breath just over his shoulder and, before she could give a word of warning, Colin was thrown clear across the room by an invisible force. 

_The spectre._

Penelope shrieked in horror as his body crashed against her bedroom wall before landing in heap on the bedroom floor. 

"Colin!" Her heart sank. She moved to go to him, but was halted by the figure that had been haunting her nights standing suddenly in her path, materializing out of thin air, phantom breaths coming in deep, labored huffs. It was different that night - larger, somehow. Its dark eyes blazed with a hellish fury that made her blood run cold as they bore into her own. 

There was something else there, too. 

Betrayal? 

It - _he_ \- stared at her, and she at him. 

He reached for her, to touch her, to cup her cheek. 

At the last second, Penelope ducked under the outstretched arm to go to Colin. 

She knelt down by his side, "Colin," she breathed again, grasping his shoulders, praying that he was awake - that he was alright, "Colin, we - " 

He shifted at the touch, "I thought I told you to leave," he groaned, propping himself up against the wall with her help. His eyes darted around the room for any sign of his attacker as the light fixtures began to flicker violently with phantom flames. 

When Penelope did the same, she found that the figure had once again disappeared. 

"I'm a poor listener - are you hurt?" she touched his cheek, directing his attention toward her so that she could inspect him properly. 

He reached up, his hand resting over hers as he shook his head, "Penelope - " he began, but his gaze looked past her, then, flicking to something over her shoulder, and she watched as his eyes widened, "Get down!" 

He pulled her to the ground with him, shielding her body with his own and Penelope shrieked as the very chair in which he'd sat mere moments before shattered against the wall above them. 

With a hand against the small of her back, Colin began shoving her forward, toward the door, "Go, go, go." 

This time, she didn't hesitate. Certain that he would be right behind her, Penelope rose from her crawl to make a run for the door, ever conscious of the hand at her back. 

Until it vanished, just as she wretched open the door and stepped out into the hall. 

She whipped around and instinctively reached back for him, her fingertips only grazing his as he was ripped away from her, yanked straight off of his feet and back into the bedroom. 

That same, ghastly figure flickered back into existence as it dragged the man she loved away from her. Penelope only had time to call his name once more before the bedroom door slammed in her face. 

And then there was nothing. 

_Silence._

"Colin!" she cried, banging and kicking at the door that somehow would not budge. 

And, God, the silence was the most wretched thing. 

How could she not hear what had been such a commotion just seconds before? 

She could feel her chest becoming tight as her eyes welled with tears - tears of frustration, of shock and fear. What was she meant to do? She couldn't just leave him in there - she would have rather died... 

With a final, frustrated yell and a sharp kick to her bedroom door, Penelope altered her course and sprinted down the stairs to find help. 

"Anthony!" she called, desperately searching the house for the eldest Bridgerton, hoping that he might have returned from his errand at Bridgerton House, "For God's sake - _Anthony!_ " 

Not finding him in any of the sitting rooms, Penelope sprinted for the door, throwing it open and darting out into the night to find the first God damned Bridgerton she could get her hands on. 

She was on her way to Bridgerton House, crashing through the front gate and onto the street, when Anthony himself intercepted her, catching her by the arms as she nearly barrelled past him in her haste, "Miss Featherington!" he peered around, alarmed, "Are you alright? What happened? Where's Colin?" 

"He - it - " She was sobbing in earnest - partially in relief that she'd run into Anthony so promptly, partially due to her anger that he'd left the house at all, but mostly in fear for Colin, "He's still inside! I - " 

Anthony, it seemed, needed no more than that. He pulled a pistol from his belt and ran back toward the house. Penelope followed, without so much as a second thought. 

They were just approaching the front door when a hacking Colin came careening around the corner and burst through the door, slamming it shut behind him. 

Anthony grasped his brother by the shoulders, turning Colin to face him as Colin gripped his lapels while he caught his breath, "Are you alright?" 

Colin nodded, "I'm alright," he confirmed, although the words were rough - painful, "Where's - " 

Once he was upright and Anthony had stepped out of the way, Penelope hurled herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck while she sobbed in relief. 

Colin wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly in return as his whole body sagged in relief, "Shh," he soothed, bringing one hand up to stroke her hair, "It's alright. You're alright." 

Penelope let out a wet, humorless chuckle, "I know I'm alright - are _you_ alright?" she scolded, and somehow she managed to hold onto to him even tighter than before, her hands curling into fists around the fabric of his coat. 

She felt him nod, then felt his lips press against her temple, "I'm fine." 

"Are you certain? I thought - " her voice broke, "Oh, Colin, I'm so sorry. I swear it's never done anything like that before! I would never have agreed to this if I'd known - I almost got you _killed_..." she was hyperventilating in earnest, now, and Colin pulled back only enough to cup her face in his hands. 

"You didn't," he assured her, "It's not your fault. We're going to figure this out. I'm going to fix this," he promised, kissing her forehead, "Shh," he murmured again, wrapping his arms around her once more. 

Anthony cleared his throat, "We should get Penelope home before she catches her death," he muttered. 

Penelope turned, eyes wide. Was he mad? "I'm not going back in there!" 

"No. No one's going back tonight," Colin assured her, "He means _our_ home." 

Anthony confirmed this with a nod, "We need to regroup," he explained simply. 

"Oh," Penelope swallowed, then nodded, "Good," she agreed as Colin shrugged off his coat to drape it over her shoulders. 

"C'mon," he murmured, again placing a hand against the small of her back to urge her to follow Anthony's lead back toward Bridgerton House. 

But that was not good enough this time. Not after what they'd just endured. 

Instead, Penelope reached back to take his hand. Her heart had not yet stopped pounding, and her blood was rushing far too swiftly through her veins for her to have the mind to worry about rejection, or fear who might see them, or what it may or may not mean in the morning. 

Perhaps it would mean nothing when the night was through. 

But, for now, she just wanted to feel him - to touch and know that he was there, with her, and that he was alright. 

She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt his fingers intertwine with hers.


	5. Chapter 5

Neither seemed inclined to let go of the other any time soon, and Anthony seemed to take note once they were safely inside, "You should be looked at," he muttered, the suggestion directed at Colin.

"I'm fine," Colin insisted. 

With a roll of his eyes and a clench of his jaw, Anthony turned his attention to Penelope instead, "You always struck me as a smart and reasonable woman." 

"Thank you...?" Penelope replied suspiciously. 

Anthony grinned, giving her a nod, "If necessary, see to it that he gets proper medical attention, would you?" 

Penelope returned his smile, "Gladly," she promised, squeezing Colin's hand in hers, a silent warning that he shouldn't bother arguing. 

Colin let out a single, irritated huff. 

Anthony winked - _winked_ \- before he turned to head up to his room, "Don't be up too late," he called back, "We shall discuss what happened in the morning." 

Colin glared at his brother's retreating form, "I'm truly fine," he told her once he was gone. 

"I'll be the judge of that," Penelope informed him soundly, "Now, come." 

She was met with some resistance as she pulled Colin into the nearby sitting room, but he begrudgingly relented, allowing her to lead him toward the sofa. 

"Sit," she instructed. 

He quirked an eyebrow, but did as he was told. 

Penelope moved about, lighting a few nearby lanterns and candles so that she could properly assess him and decide whether he needed further, proper medical attention. Daphne, she recalled, was quite proficient in nursing, but Penelope did not want to wake her unless it was absolutely necessary. 

Satisfied that the room was illuminated enough for her to see him, Penelope turned back to where Colin sat waiting for her judgement. 

And gasped. 

" _Colin,_ " she scolded, although it was a weak, breathless sound as she found herself drawn back to him. 

He swallowed, "It looks worse than it feels," he assured her. 

She found that difficult to believe, because he looked _awful_. The whites of his eyes were red and angry - irritated. 

There were cuts and bruises littering his hands and perhaps worst of all were the markings on his neck. 

Penelope could hardly find it in her to glare at him as her she gingerly touched her fingertips to the dark, angry buises forming on his throat - red and raised, almost like burns, "You haven't seen it," she murmured. 

He hummed, "I see it in your eyes." 

Her eyes that were beginning to well again with tears, "Colin, what happened?" she asked, her voice no more than a whisper as she traced the bruises - laid her own hand over the distinct imprint of a thumb, fingers... 

Hands. Around his neck. 

His thumb brushed a stray tear off of her cheek, "It looks worse than it feels," he reiterated soothingly, his hands sliding down to grasp her hips, drawing her closer. 

Penelope shook her head, "Don't lie." 

Her hands cradled his face, feeling the slight prickle of evening stubble as she bent to rest her forehead against his. She inhaled deeply, shakily, trying her best to compose herself, "I should wake Daphne," she muttered decidedly, moving to pull away. 

"No," he protested, bringing her back to him. 

She found that she did not have it in her to fight him - not tonight. She returned to him, her hands sliding over his shoulders, bypassing his injuries to stroke his cheek, swallowing past the growing lump in her throat. 

He gathered her nightgown in his hands, holding tightly to her as they lingered, breathing each other in - so close and, somehow, not close enough. Penelope wanted to meld her body with his - to keep him with her, like this, and to never let go. 

"Sit with me," he muttered, pulling her closer still, reaching up briefly to remove his coat from around her shoulders. His fingertips caught on the neckline of her gown as he pushed away the heavy fabric, letting it fall to the ground at her feet. 

Without sparing a thought as to what she was doing, or what it meant or could mean if anyone were to see them (a theme for the night, it appeared), Penelope allowed herself to be pulled into his lap and settled with her thighs on either side of his. It was indecent and intimate and dangerous and, if she'd allowed herself to think it through, she would've known it was an awful idea. 

But she didn't want to think - not tonight. 

Tonight, she would simply allow herself to feel. 

Him, them, everything. 

She felt his breath on her neck as her hands slid into his hair. She closed her eyes and felt his lips on her collarbone. She clung to him, wanting to stay this way, to keep him, for as long as she possibly could. 

For she knew how close she'd come to losing him. 

That _thing_ had truly intended to kill him. 

He had nearly died to protect her. 

Her heart yearned - no, _ached_ \- for him, now more than ever, and she had no intention of letting a moment such as this pass her by. 

She loved him. She had loved him for _years_ , and now this... 

This was all she could have ever dreamed of and more, even if it was just for tonight. 

She kissed his forehead, the corners of his eyes, his cheeks. Their noses brushed, and he moved to kiss her properly. 

Somehow, Penelope knew that there was no coming back from that - from a true, passionate kiss (her first and only) - and she knew she couldn't bear it if he kissed her now, while he was caught up in the moment, then acted as if there were nothing between them in the morning. She'd been saved from herself, ironically, by the appearance of her spectre earlier in the night. 

But now they were well and truly alone, and Penelope was frightened. 

And so she turned, and his kiss only caught the corner of her mouth, then lingered along her jaw. 

But his hand slid over her bared thigh, giving a curious, inquiring squeeze, "Pen...?" 

She simply shook her head. 

He slowed, then stopped, sitting back. He placed a finger beneath her chin, drawing her gaze back to meet his, "Do you want to stop?" 

Again, she shook her head. 

He blinked at her, slowly, eyes seeming to search her face for some clue as to what she was thinking, what she wanted. With a sigh, Penelope reached to brush an unruly piece of hair off of his face. He shifted beneath her, lifting his hips experimentally to grind against hers. 

Penelope gasped at the friction, her hand in his hair curling into a fist. She stared back at him in surprise, steeling herself as she waited for him to do it again. 

He didn't move - only watched her, licking his lips. She loosened her grip on his hair, carding her fingers through it thoughtfully. 

_He was waiting for her._

Penelope bit her lip before she moved again, chasing that sweet friction with a soft exhale. The movement seemed to be the permission he was looking for and his lips settled along her neck while they moved against each other, clinging to each other desperately, as though the other might vanish if they were to ever let go. 

She could feel the most incredible, strange tension building in her belly as she continued to press herself against him, and he her, "Colin," she moaned. 

His hand slid over her curves, sliding between their bodies to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple through the thin fabric. 

Penelope whimpered, pressing into the touch, resting her forehead against his. 

"You can kiss me," she heard him say, his voice low, "I want you to." 

With a shaking hand, she touched his cheek and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as though that might help her to resist what she so desperately wanted and, God, the nerve of him to allow her to be that one to make such a choice at a time like this - to be so gentle, despite the intensity of the moment... 

It just made her want absolutely everything. 

So she took it. She cast her insecurities, her reservations, her fears, aside and captured his mouth with hers, her body melting fully against his when he sighed against her lips, immediately deepening their kiss hungrily, as though he'd been starved of her for far too long. 

He wanted her, even if he didn't love her, and that was enough. It would be enough, because she wanted him, and she loved him, and she wanted to take anything and everything that he was willing to give. 

And kissing Colin... 

Kissing Colin, while that delicious friction and pressure continued to build, was better than she could have ever imagined. It wasn't like coming home, because home had never been a place where Penelope felt safe, or loved, or wanted, and she felt all of those things here, with him, in his arms, wrapped up in his kiss, in his passionate embrace. 

Kissing Colin was something new and exciting. It was a glimpse at a future that she had only ever dreamed of. It was a tangible fantasy the likes of which she'd never seen. 

It wasn't perfect. It was messy, desperate. She was deshevelled and exhausted, he was bruised and broken, but it was everything. 

It wasn't perfect. 

It was real. 

And that was so much better. 

All at once, that steady, incredible build became nearly unbearable until it reached a crescendo. Her jaw fell slack, and her fingers dug into his shoulders as her entire body trembled with release. She felt him tense beneath her, and she hurried to kiss him again - just one more time - before everything became still again. 

She allowed herself to hold him for a moment longer, just until they caught their breath, until her legs stopped shaking. 

"Penelope, I - " he began, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against her thigh. 

"I should wake Daphne," Penelope blurted again, before he could express regret for what they'd just done - before he could apologize, or say anything more. 

And she hated herself for it. 

Because his hand stilled and he looked up at her with such an expression that Penelope might've thought she'd wounded him. She averted her gaze as he spoke, "What?" 

She swallowed, beginning to remove herself from him, "You need medical attention, a-and I promised Anthony - " 

" _Now_?" he gaped at her as she stepped out of his grasp 

"Yes, Colin. Please, you're hurt, and - " Penelope wanted to cry. She wanted to run. She wanted to crawl back into his arms and never leave. 

"For Christ sake, I don't need medical attention! I need you to _look at me_." 

Her heart was breaking - she was certain. She could feel the ache in her chest as she shook her head, "I have to go," she sobbed, her hand flying to cover the sound as she turned away from him. Every muscle, every fibre of her being was screaming at her to go back - to hear what he had wanted to say, to talk to him, to give herself the chance to be with him, but she'd wanted that for far too long, and she'd finally become okay with the fact that this could never be. 

When this was over, when life returned to normal, Colin Bridgerton would break her heart. 

She just knew it. 

And Penelope wouldn't survive it. 

She stood for a moment in front of Daphne's door to compose herself before she knocked to wake her. It took a few attempts before the door opened, and Daphne frowned at her while she tied her robe, "Penelope? Is everything alright? You look a fright. I thought - " 

"We were attacked," Good God, she was crying again. 

Daphne's expression became worried, "Oh my - is everyone alright? Is Colin - " 

"He's hurt," Penelope's lip trembled, "H-he's downstairs. Do you think you could..." 

Daphne was already closing the bedroom door behind her, "Of course. And you - are you alright?" 

Penelope began to nod, but it was a half-hearted attempt. She had never before been less alright, "A bit shaken," she offered as a poor explanation. 

Daphne nodded sympathetically, reaching to touch Penelope's arm, "You should rest. I will look after my brother." 

Penelope nodded and turned to make her way to the guest quarters. After a few paces, she slowed, then turned, "Daphne?" 

The eldest Bridgerton daughter turned back expectantly. 

"Tell him I'm sorry," she murmured, the words soft and a bit broken. 

Daphne blinked, tilting her head curiously, "Whatever for?" 

Penelope swallowed, wringing her hands, "Everything. I just...would you tell him? Please?" 

Daphne clearly wanted to press for more but, after a moment, she nodded, "Of course." 

Penelope thanked her, and the women went their separate ways - Daphne toward Colin, and Penelope away from the only man in whose company she always wanted to remain. 

\--- 

When Penelope awoke the next morning, the Viscontess Kate Bridgerton was waiting, sat in a chair at the foot of her bed, arms folded across her chest. 

Penelope squeaked in surprise, sitting upright and tugging the duvet up to cover herself, "What are you - " 

"What did you do to Colin?" the words were more curious than accusatory, but Penelope's heart sank. 

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean." 

Kate quirked a disbelieving brow, "He went back last night, you know. To the Featherington estate - " 

And, while Penelope had a million questions (the least of which pertaining to when Kate had returned from her sister's and how long she had known about the supernatural and, more specifically, Penelope's situation) the first words that flew out of her mouth were, "He did _what_?" 

Kate gave a single, sage nod, "Anthony had to go help Daphne drag him back home again." 

"I - he...why would he _do_ that?" Penelope huffed furiously. 

"You tell me." 

"Is he alright?" 

"He's fine. You have yet to answer my question." 

"Which was what, again?" 

"Why, after Anthony entrusted him to your care, did Colin Bridgerton decide to go on a suicide mission to your home in the dead of night after nearly having already been killed once by your spectre?" 

Penelope flushed, "Surely you know I have no control over what Colin does or does not do." 

"I believe you hold more sway than you think." 

The pair stared at each other. Penelope had always liked Kate and, while she was married to Anthony and was, by said marriage, now a Bridgerton, Kate also knew what it was like to love one. She knew how complex matters of the heart could be - especially when it came to the Bridgerton men. 

Penelope glanced down at the duvet in her hands, toying absently with a loose string, "We...that is, he and I - last night, after Anthony retired for the night, w-we..." she flushed. 

When she looked up, Kate was smiling knowingly, "Yes, it was oddly progressive of my husband to leave the two of you alone," she mused in understanding - and, dare Penelope say, approval. 

Penelope's blush intensified. 

"That doesn't explain his tantrum, however." 

Penelope sighed, flopping back against the pillows, "I left him." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

Penelope reached for a pillow and dragged it over her face, "I _left_. He tried to say something - afterwards, I mean - and I _left_. All but ran out the door, honestly." 

Kate frowned, "...I thought you loved him?" 

"I do! I panicked! I - wait, you know how I feel about Colin?" 

"Everyone knows how you feel about Colin," Kate informed her bluntly, waving off her surprise. 

Penelope groaned, "Wonderful." 

Kate considered her for a moment before she rose from her seat with a sigh, "You should talk to him. Hear what he has to say. He may surprise you." 

"Yes, well," Penelope scoffed, "I have a few choice words for him myself." 

Kate beamed, "That's the spirit." 

\--- 

Penelope had had every intention of avoiding Colin. Not out of fear, necessarily, but out of shame for how she had behaved, and because she'd been sure that she would have had no idea what to say to him to make it right. 

But, now, armed with the information that Kate had so graciously provided, Penelope could certainly think of a great a deal of things she had to say to Colin Bridgerton. 

The first and most prominent, of course, being, "How could you be so stupid?!" 

Benedict, who had been mid-sip of morning tea when Penelope had unceremoniously barged into the dining room, choked. 

Anthony took a bite of toast before casting his younger brother a sidelong glance - one that perhaps said he was wondering the exact same thing, "An excellent question, Miss Featherington." 

"Thank you," Penelope huffed. 

Anthony tilted his head expectantly at his brother, "Colin?" 

And, if looks could kill, Anthony would have been a dead man ten times over, "I will run you through with the butter knife." 

The eldest Bridgerton gave a thoughtful hum, "Interesting choice of weapon - surely you, of all people, should be able to come up with a more efficient way of killing me." 

"Of course I could, but few would be quite as unpleasant." 

"Yes, it is a rather dull instrument..." Anthony conceded. 

Penelope cleared her throat. 

"Right," Benedict coughed, "I have a, erm...Anthony, we have that...business." 

"We have no business," Anthony sniffed. 

"Of course you do, my love," Kate insisted as she swept into the room, offering Penelope an encouraging smile before she went to retrieve her stubborn husband, "You have that _thing_." 

"I have no such thi - OW!" 

If she hadn't known better, Penelope might have suspected that the Viscountess had stomped on Anthony's foot. 

"Ah, yes, of course," Anthony growled through gritted teeth, " _That_ thing." 

Kate grinned. 

With a sigh, Anthony pushed his chair away from the table and rose to leave with his brother and wife. As they passed, Penelope could have sworn she heard Anthony protesting about how he'd so wanted to stay and hear more about Colin's stupidity. 

Penelope felt emboldened by such approval. 

Colin sighed, reaching for a piece of toast, "Good morning to you, too." 

Penelope glared at him, "How could you?" 

He raised his eyebrows, "How could _I_? How could _you_." 

Penelope gasped, "I beg your _pardon_!" 

"You heard me," he sniffed, leaning back in his seat while he buttered his toast. 

"I have done nothing - " 

His hands fell to the table with a loud thud as he, again, looked over at her with a look of utter disbelief. 

Penelope, to her credit, flushed, because she knew that that wasn't exactly true. She'd hurt him - that much was clear. But they weren't _talking_ about that. There were more pressing issues at hand. 

Like his apparent death wish. 

She shifted and began again, "How could you return to that house?" she revised. 

Colin scoffed, "That is my job, Miss Featherington - it's what I do." 

"You could have been killed!" 

"And I could be killed some other time - do you have a point?" he countered with a sharp glare. 

" _Why_?" 

An aggravated sigh, "Penelope - " 

"You should have waited for Anthony. You should have waited and regrouped, like he said, then gone back with a _plan_." 

There was a pause - a heavy silence that fell between them. 

"I couldn't wait," he explained, finally, his sharp, angry tone replaced by one that was almost defeated, "I needed..." his jaw clenched, his hand closing into a fist around the butter knife he'd threatened Anthony with moments before. 

Penelope ventured closer, drawn in by that same, unmistakable pull - that need to be near him, to comfort him. She only made it a few steps before forced herself to stay put, "What?" she pressed, voice soft, "What did you need?" 

"I needed to _hurt_ something," he admitted, "And, Christ, I've so wanted to hurt that _thing_ from the moment you told me that it - " he stopped abruptly, shaking his head. 

Penelope could scarcely breathe, "...Colin?" 

"I was jealous, can you believe that?" he chuckled darkly, " _Jealous._ Me. Of a _dead man_. Because he touched you before I'd even realized that the only man I ever want touching you is me." 

Her heart stopped. 

Colin continued, oblivious to the way he'd just turned her entire world upside down, "I couldn't stand it. And then I was _furious_ because it had no right to take such liberties with you and I had no right to be so ridiculously _enraged_ by a bloody _spectre_ , but I - " 

He sighed, "I've been so blind all these years and last night, when you left, I realized that I might be too late," he offered her a humorless smile - one that looked so devastatingly unnatural on him, "I was angry with myself, angry with that thing that continues to harass you, and I suppose I thought I could take care of both issues in one fell swoop, so to speak." 

Penelope swallowed, but said nothing. She lacked the words and, frankly, the time to process everything he had said. She was angry with him still - of course she was. He had been so careless with his own life and, in her opinion, that was bordering on unforgivable, but damn if he didn't know precisely what to say to make her irritation melt away. 

"You...you're not angry with me?" 

He blinked at her, then, to her immense relief, he laughed - a true, delighted, fond sound, " _That's_ what you took away from that?" 

"I thought for certain that you'd hate me. Last night, what I did - it was unforgivable, really - " 

"Which part?" he clarified with a grin. 

Penelope blushed, "Not that part." 

"Well, that's a relief, because I was really hoping we might be able do it again sometime." 

Penelope's heart swelled and, before she even begin to process the words that lingered on the tip of her tongue and stop herself, she blurted, "I love you." 

Her chest tightened in panic. It was something she had never said aloud to anyone - not in such plain terms, at least. Certainly not to _Colin himself_. Kate had asked, and Penelope had confirmed it, but she had never intended to ever make her love known to him in any way. 

And now it hung precariously in the air between them.

If he refused her now, surely she would die right then and there.

But he did not.

He stared at her, his gaze somehow simultaneously soft and fond and _intense_ all at once.

But he said nothing

Somehow, that was almost worse.

Penelope swallowed, shifting her weight uncertainly, "Colin...?"

And then he rose rather abruptly, nearly knocking his chair to the ground in his haste, and was halfway around the table before Penelope realized that her feet had carried her round to meet him and, somewhere in the middle, they collided and Penelope wrapped her legs around his waist when he hoisted her up against him as she pressed her lips eagerly against his. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers while he spoke. 

Penelope shook her head, cupping his face in her hands as she peppered him with kisses, "No, I'm the one who should apologize - " 

"I worried you - " 

"I hurt you - " 

"I've been such an idiot." 

"No, I have - " 

"Oh for God's sake!" Anthony's voice boomed from the other side of the door, causing Penelope to freeze in mortification, "You're both idiots! Now, can we please come back and finish our breakfast?!" 

There came a rather loud _smack_ and muffled voices - presumably Anthony, Kate, and Benedict bickering amongst themselves. 

With a groan of irritation, followed by a sigh of defeat, Colin kissed the tip of her nose and set her back on her feet, "Later," he muttered decidedly, touching her cheek. 

Penelope smiled and turned to kiss his palm with a nod, "Later," she agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

The promise of _later_ lingered in the air between them for the remainder of the day, tormenting her from that point forward.

Certainly Penelope was well aware that there were much more pressing issues at hand, given the previous night’s events, but, oh, _the previous night’s events_... 

It was all she could think about. She could scarcely keep herself from replaying them over and over again in her mind and Colin had promised her _later_ and all she could think about was whatever could possibly await her when later finally came. 

_Later, later, later…_

“Miss Featherington?” 

Penelope started, “Hmm?” 

It was then that she’d realized that her daydreaming gaze had been fixated longingly on the object of her distracting affections, and she blushed furiously, averting her gaze. 

Anthony frowned in disapproval, and Colin grinned. 

Penelope did her best to ignore the latter, “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” 

After supper, they had come together again in Anthony’s study to regroup and decide the best course of action moving forward. 

“Did he say anything to you?” 

“Who? Colin?” 

“Oh, for the love of - “ 

Kate laid a hand between her vexed viscount’s shoulders as he, in turn, laid his forehead against the surface of the desk, rubbing soothing circles, “The spectre, of course,” she filled in for him, offering Penelope an apologetic, if not a bit fond, shake of her head. 

“Right! Yes, of course. _Him_ , him - not…” Colin snorted, Penelope cleared her throat, “Erm...when do you mean?” 

A muffled sound came from Anthony, an utterance that Penelope was sure would not be in her favor, and Kate’s gentle rubs turned to a stern pat. 

Anthony sat up, taking a deep breath, “Last night. Colin said you were alone with it for a time - did it say anything to you?” 

Penelope blinked, “You saw?” 

Colin grunted in affirmation. 

She had thought him to be indisposed when the spectre had approached her. Not that it particularly mattered that he’d seen it, but knowing what she knew now about how it had bothered him, even before he’d seen it, _she_ was bothered by having him bear witness to the spectre’s strange intimacies for himself. 

Penelope shook her head, “No, it didn’t speak. It rarely does. It mostly just -” 

“Yes, we know,” Colin interjected moodily, before Penelope could again describe the spectre’s behaviour toward her. 

Penelope offered an apologetic - and, somehow, simultaneously thankful - smile. 

Anthony tapped his fingers against the desk thoughtfully, “We shall have to go back to the house,” he decided, “Evidently, we do not have the tether in our possession, seeing as the spectre still appeared at the house after I’d left with our suspects.” 

Penelope paled. 

Colin, remarkably, said nothing, but the look on his face told her that this suggestion did not come as a surprise to him. In truth, she shouldn’t have been shocked by the notion herself - and, perhaps, she was less shocked than she was frightened by the idea. 

Anthony must have seen her terror, because he waved her off, “Worry not, Miss Featherington. Colin will not be joining us.” 

Penelope uttered, “He won’t?” at the same time Colin rose, yelling, “Like hell I’m not!” 

“You anger it,” Anthony pointed out coolly. 

“Good!” 

Anthony rolled his eyes, “You are not thinking clearly - “ 

“You haven’t the slightest idea what I’m _thinking_ , Anthony.” 

Penelope looked between the brothers, knowing better than to interfere in such an exchange. In truth, she was very much on Anthony’s side (purely out of her own, selfish desire to keep Colin far away from that which had nearly killed him the night before). 

“I will not have your blood on my hands,” Anthony growled, and Kate reached to squeeze his hand. 

Colin held his gaze with equal fury, “Either I go with you or I go alone - you can not stop me.” 

Anthony swallowed, clenching his jaw furiously at the impasse. Penelope could see the pain etched into the elder Bridgerton’s features, and she felt like she understood him (perhaps for the first time since she’d known him). Anthony shouldered a terrible burden: to be both father and brother to his siblings. He viewed Colin as his responsibility - his to protect. 

Penelope could understand such an instinct. 

For she, too, viewed Colin Bridgerton in much the same way. 

Hers. 

And hers to protect. 

She did not want Colin to go back there. She knew that he’d been doing this for far longer than she could possibly know, and that he had survived this long, therefore he had to be very talented in his endeavors, but she simply did not know how she would live with herself if he met his end trying to help her. 

She wasn’t so sure that she could. 

She imagined that Anthony was struggling with the same sense of responsibility for whatever might happen to Colin, and she understood him. 

She licked her lips, “Colin, perhaps he has a point.“ 

Colin turned his glare on her, “He doesn’t. And you don’t get a say.” 

“I - “ Penelope sputtered indignantly, “I beg your pardon! I have more of a say than either of you - “ 

“You don’t, because there’s absolutely no way I would ever allow _you_ to go back there - I imagine you feel much the same about me. Correct?” he challenged, raising a single, dark brow. 

Penelope glared at him, hating that he was right about her bias, “It is _my_ spectre.” 

“And you are _my_ wife,” he snapped back, “Or you will be soon enough.” 

Penelope’s mouth fell open, because, well… 

Colin had never proposed. 

And he’d just… _thrown_ such a presumptuous statement out, just like that - as if it were common knowledge. 

“I’m what?” 

He stared at her as though she’d grown two heads, “I - Good Lord, Penelope, obviously I intend to marry you. Was that not clear?” 

“I - well - it...you…” Penelope floundered, “It wasn’t _un_ clear,” she grumbled, cheeks turning pink as she recalled just how thoroughly compromised she’d been. Of course he intended to marry her - it wasn’t as though there was any question about that, but it was just… 

“You never _asked_ ,” she blurted. 

Colin smiled fondly, “Pen, we…” he raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the Viscount, then back to her before he cleared his throat suggestively. 

Her blush deepened. 

“No - I do not need to know any more,” Anthony blurted, “You’ll be married. Congratulations. I will just…” Anthony gestured to the door, “We shall discuss this at another time,” he warned Colin, not wanting his brother to believe for a second that they were through, before he made a bee-line for the door with Kate by his side, “Idiots,” he murmured incredulously to her as he went, “I’m surrounded by them.” 

Kate patted his shoulder reassuringly, “I know, darling,” she soothed indulgently, although she rolled her eyes when Penelope glanced her way. 

Once the pair were gone, Colin moved to crouch next to where she sat, draping his arms over the arms of her chair and taking her hand in his, “I assumed you knew,” he offered with an apologetic smile, lifting her hand to kiss her palm. 

Penelope intertwined her fingers with his, “I suppose I hadn’t...thought that far ahead just yet.” 

He tilted his head, “It doesn’t necessarily have to be _so_ far ahead. The sooner the better, in fact,” he grinned, leaning forward to steal a kiss. 

And when he kissed her, that word swam through her mind once more - tempting and taunting her. 

_Later, later, later…_

“Colin?” she murmured. 

He hummed in acknowledgement as he kissed her jaw. 

“Is it later?” 

He stopped, sat back, and stared at her for a moment. 

Then he positively lit up. 

“God, I love you,” he laughed, pressing his lips against hers one more time before he grabbed her by the hand and hauled her upstairs. 

Nevermind the fact that this was the first time he’d ever said those three words aloud. 

(Penelope could not be too angry with him. He would say them, breathe them, prove them, press them into her skin, so many more times before the night was through.) 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------- 

It was well into the middle of the night when she was roused from a dead sleep. 

Her entire body was exhausted, and she couldn’t recall having ever slept quite so well. 

It was a lovely sort of feeling. 

Penelope could not say what, specifically, had woken her, but she awoke shivering beneath the covers, despite the warmth of Colin’s body next to hers. 

When she groaned and reached for him, intending to move closer, his hand shot out to grasp hers, squeezing it tightly in warning, “Don’t,” he hissed. 

Penelope opened her eyes, then, and they immediately widened in horror. Evidently, she had not imagined the chill that woke her, for its source hovered directly over where Colin lay, its eyes blazing with the same, red hot fury she’d seen the previous night. 

In its hand, it held Colin’s blade - one he’d left behind in Penelope’s bedchamber. 

“How - “ Penelope breathed, and Colin’s grip tightened. 

It had heard her, though, and the spectre turned sharply toward her - the movement alarmingly and unnaturally quick. 

It stared. 

She swallowed. 

“How are you here?” she inquired, ever mindful of the knife that hovered dangerously close to Colin’s neck. Penelope had no fear for her own life, for it had only ever threatened his, and, in this moment, she knew that Colin’s life depended on how she proceeded. 

Slowly, gingerly, she moved her free hand beneath the duvet to cover his, carefully peeling herself away from his grasp. 

“Pen - “ he moved to stop her. 

The knife shot closer. 

“It’s alright,” she cooed - whether she was speaking to Colin or the spectre was uncertain. 

Perhaps her words were meant for both. To reassure Colin and to placate the spectre. 

As Penelope slipped out of the bed, moving further and further away from Colin’s side, the spectre, too, seemed to drift further and further from him, following where she went. 

_Good_ , she thought. She could breathe, now - think a little more clearly now that there was some distance between the weapon and her love. 

“Why are you here?” she asked once more, eyes flicking back to Colin briefly, for she knew he would be listening. For all the rage and distress littering his features, there was a flicker of understanding there, too. He would need to know how this was possible - _why_ it was possible. 

He would need to know for when he came for her. 

“For you,” the spectre stated simply, coming to rest before her and reaching to touch her hair, and her neck. 

For the first time, Penelope allowed the spectre its exploration - she studied it, taking it in rather than blocking it out. The spectre’s dark, hollow gaze fixated on her neck - his cold touch could not seem to choose between lingering there or reaching to toy with a stray curl. 

Always her face, her hair. 

Always her neck. 

Never anything beyond that… 

Face. 

Hair. 

_Neck_. 

Penelope’s breath caught, and her hand instinctively flew to her neck, “The necklace.” 

“You’re not wearing it,” the spectre hissed. 

But Penelope’s attention was elsewhere - back on Colin, who had carefully risen from the bed and was approaching the spectre from behind. 

Penelope shook her head frantically, trying to stop him from executing whatever half-baked, idiotic plan he had, but the acknowledgement and her distraction was enough to set the spectre off again, and it flickered, snarled, and whirled on Colin with that same, unnatural speed. 

Within mere seconds, the spectre had Colin pinned to the wall, a single hand gripping him by the throat while the other raised the knife - 

“Stop!” Penelope cried, “Please. Wait.” 

In a moment of sheer, desperate insanity, Penelope reached out to touch the spectre - to grasp it’s forearm. 

The spectre turned to her at the touch. It had touched her many a time, but to have her touch him… 

The spirit was mesmerized by it. 

“Please,” she repeated, swallowing her fear, ignoring the pounding of her heart as she applied a gentle pressure to the spectre’s arm (strange, how she was able to touch it at all - it was not something she’d believed possible), urging it to lower the weapon, “Let him go. He - “ 

The spectre’s grip tightened. 

Colin choked. 

“I…” Penelope redirected, “Take me home. M-my necklace - I must have forgotten it there.” 

The grip loosened, “Home?” the spectre repeated, almost hopefully. 

Penelope nodded, “Take me home, and leave him be. I will go with you.” 

“I…” A lump began to form in her throat, her eyes flicked to Colin’s, “I love you,” she breathed, her voice breaking just ever so slightly because, while the words were directed at the spectre - as a manipulation, as a distraction, as a lie - they were _meant_ for Colin. They were for him, and him alone, because she had to say it one last time. 

Because Penelope knew not what she was doing. She was acting solely out of desperation. She did not know what would happen once she left Bridgerton House with the spectre. She did not know what she was agreeing to, nor what would happen to her once she returned home again. 

She inhaled a shaky breath, a rogue tear escaping and blazing a desolate trail down her cheek, “I never wish to be parted from you, but...when I must go, I will take comfort in knowing that you will come for me.” 

_You will come for me._

Colin nodded, his jaw clenching. There was pain in his eyes - a pain unlike anything Penelope had ever seen, and one that she never wished to see in him again. 

It was such an impossible position - to watch someone you love sacrifice themselves for you, knowing you were powerless to stop it. 

Penelope had felt that way only a day prior. 

She never wanted to feel that way again. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, because she truly was sorry for putting him through it now, but she had no other choice. She wouldn’t allow him to die for her, whether he was willing or not. 

Penelope startled when the spectre released Colin altogether. Colin gasped, doubling over while he tried to catch his breath. 

Penelope itched to go to him - to make sure he was alright. 

The spectre held out a hand, “Time to go home.” 

Penelope swallowed and, once Colin had composed himself well enough to look her way, once she was sure he would be alright, she took the spectre’s hand. 

“Come for me,” she mouthed, silent tears running freely now as fear settled in her chest. 

“Always,” Colin promised. 

And then the word turned cold and grey. The edges of her vision began to blur and fade until she couldn’t see him at all, although she could have sworn she heard him call her name from somewhere in the distance. 

_Distance_. 

How was that possible? 

And suddenly she was falling, but ever so slowly… 

Floating, perhaps. 

Suspended in a world between. 

And then there was nothing.


End file.
